Mortuary Moments
by Flesh Made Word
Summary: [Planescape: Torment] A collection of short, humorous ficlets involving Sigil's mortuary, and the mysteriously scarred man who always seems to wake up there...


Disclaimer: I do not own Nameless, Morte, or any of the characters found herein, and the Planescape: Torment game and the Planescape setting for D&D are properties of Wizards of the Coast, which I also do not own. I merely _wish_ that I could profit by writing about them.

* * *

The first thing he felt was cold. 

It felt like he was lying face up on a cold iron slab, and it seemed like a familiar feeling too. His arms were at his side, palms down, against the cold metal.

There was no light, of course. He spent another few seconds in darkness, until he realized his eyes were closed. He opened them, and closed them immediately against the harsh bright light. He opened them again, slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the light.

_Where am I?_ He thought, staring at the ceiling.

"About time you woke up, chief. I've been worried sick."

_That voice…_

And then it all clicked. He remembered where he was, and how he had gotten there. More importantly, he recognized the voice.

"Morte, don't lie," he spoke, his voice somewhat raspy. He always sounded like this after waking up.

"Hey, c'mon chief, I wasn't lying! I was worried you wouldn't wake up this time, and I'd have to spend my endless days here at dustmen central. Give me _some_ credit."

He sat up, and turned to look at the speaker. A floating skull leered at him from a few feet away. It looked as if it would be rolling its eyes if it had them.

"Morte, one of these days your awful sense of humour will _really_ get you killed."

"Ha. Ha. You're so funny," the skull said sarcastically. "How about we stick to the old system, chief? You know, the one where I make the jokes, and you continue looking like a walking corpse. A _silent_ walking corpse," he added as an afterthought.

The man couldn't think of a good comeback. _Not that it was really an insult_, he thought, looking down at himself. His body _did_ look a little worse for wear, being almost completely covered in scars. There wasn't a mirror in sight, but he imagined his face looked fairly similar: like he had just died and woken up on a mortuary slab. This, technically, was _exactly_ what had just happened. Morte certainly wasn't going to let him forget it.

"On second thought," the skull said, "you're allowed to make the occasional joke. It'll give me something to look forward to every time you come back from the dead." This time the eye roll was more pronounced. It was an odd sight, since Morte's lack of eyes and other facial features made it look like he was just tilting his skull back and to the side. It took some getting used to.

"Morte, as much as I appreciate our friendly banter, maybe we should actually be on our way? I can only stand this place for so long."

"You? YOU?" The skull bobbed up and down in front of him. "I'M the one who gets to hang around here for hours, until you wake up! I know this whole soddin' place like the inside of my skull! And let me tell you, the zombies here are definitely NOT the chattiest undead in the multiverse. I'm just glad I can't smell…" He trailed off, as he headed towards the nearest balcony.

"Uh, Morte? The exit's this way," the man said, pointing towards a dimly lit arch with a stairway leading down.

The skull was eyelessly staring at him, jaw slightly agape.

"I knew that," he said, pretending to be offended. "Lead the way, oh mighty and nameless one."

* * *

Ten minutes later… 

"Morte, could you have kept your big mouth shut for once?"

"Hey, no fair chief! I can't stand to see a pretty girl treated that way. Even if she is a zombie. That dusty deserves what he got."

The man heard very little of that, however, as he was slightly more occupied with keeping a giant skeleton from cleaving him with its big rusty sword. So far his efforts had barely been successful.

"Morte, I could really use a hand here."

"Well chief, I would be glad to lend you a hand, but you see…"

"Morte! This is not the time for jokes!"

The skull sighed heavily. "Well, for starters, you need to get past the giant skeleton if you wanna get out of here."

"I can see that!"

"No, sorry chief. I mean you need to get _past_ the skeleton. The exit's on the other side of this floor."

_Oh. Well then._

The man ducked a swing from the giant weapon, and watched as the creature prepared to attack him again. When it raised the sword above its head, he swiftly leapt towards the creature and rolled between its legs. He heard the rusted weapon smash the part of the floor he had just been standing in. Once past the skeletal guard, he began to run as fast as he could, hoping he could get out of sight before the thing could turn around.

"Nice moves, chief. You're lucky no other guards heard the commotion."

His luck decided to end at exactly that point. Standing between him and freedom, not twenty feet away, was a large group of dustmen, all waving their daggers and advancing slowly towards him. He skidded to a halt.

"Son of a night hag, we're trapped!" Morte bobbed around frantically.

_Oh well. You win some, you lose some._

The man gave a resigned sighed, turned around, and started walking back towards the giant skeleton, which had finally caught up to them, and had even brought a few of its giant skeleton friends.

"Uh, chief? Have you completely lost your mind? What makes you think the giant armored skeletons will be easier to take down than a bunch of dusties? Chief? That sword's coming at you mighty fast, you might want to consider getting out of the–"


End file.
